


Off and On - Hangover & Brass

by run_sure_footed



Series: Before Kipo [12]
Category: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Cartoon)
Genre: Brass knuckles, Break Up, Drunken Regrets, Hangover, M/M, Make Up, One Night Stand, saying big emotional things very casually tonight apparently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_sure_footed/pseuds/run_sure_footed
Summary: Here's the next instalment of Off and On, our series of break-ups/make-ups between Harris and Jamack.This one is literally set the morning after the last one, unfortunately.
Relationships: Harris/Jamack (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts)
Series: Before Kipo [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1878325
Comments: 8
Kudos: 13





	Off and On - Hangover & Brass

_Hangover_

Jamack woke in a daze, confused to find himself in an unfamiliar burrow. He was completely entangled with Harris, and jostled him awake accidentally as he tried to sit up. His head was aching and he groaned. Fuck, this had been a strange decision. Maybe a bad one. He didn’t really regret it—it had been an amazing night—but joining Harris in his burrow was risky.

Harris came awake with his fists clenched, ready to fight who or whatever was in his burrow. The movement made the world spin and he came dangerously close to throwing up his stomach. He braced himself with one hand on the wall while he tried to get his bearings. The figure beside him was familiar. “Jamack?” he groaned, pressing his face against the cool moss lining the burrow. It was almost dry after a night of him absorbing its moisture, and he was still badly dehydrated. It hurt to open his mouth, where it felt like the dry skin had started sealing together. He needed to get water, needed to get _out_ , but Jamack was in the way.

“Yeah. Fuck, just let me—” Jamack grabbed his clothes, dressing as quickly as he could. Harris’ burrow was taller than his, but not nearly as wide. He slipped outside, waiting silently in the hidden entrance to be sure there was no one around before climbing down onto the bank.

Harris glanced at his mossy bed, where he could still see—or at least imagined he could still see—Jamack’s outline. _Their_ outline.

He was sorely tempted to just lie down again, curl up, and try to sleep. Was it possible to _will_ yourself to death?

Groaning again, he followed Jamack up and out. The sun was _so bright_. Fuck. Why were his eyes _so fucking big_? What had his ancestors needed to see so badly? His third eyelid kept closing involuntarily.

Jamack looked up at Harris. He looked even worse than Jamack felt. “Let’s get some water,” he grunted. He felt like a dehydrated husk shrivelling up in the sun, like he might just blow away with a strong wind. Knowing Harris, he was likely feeling even worse. Alcohol always effected him quicker, and he was always more sensitive to dry weather and dehydration.

If he opened his mouth, Harris knew he’d throw up, so he settled for nodding instead. Then he couldn’t find the energy to lift it again, which left him staring at the ground. And Jamack’s shoes. He hated the sight of them right now. Well, at the moment he hated the sight of _everything_ , but especially Jamack. This was all Jamack’s fault, the way it always was. Harris just couldn’t…couldn’t resist him, and yeah, maybe that was on him, but did Jamack have to be so fucking charming and handsome? Couldn’t he be…less attractive? _Oh, I’m so fucked._

Harris didn’t say anything, so Jamack just headed for a shallow pool at the edge of the Pond, where he knew Harris liked to wade. It was one of the few places he could actually be fully in the water.

Harris more or less allowed himself to fall facefirst into the water, pleased that he didn’t have to look at any part of Jamack any longer. He felt his thirsty skin soak it up, driving away at least some of the alcohol’s effects. A flash of memory from the night before. No. Oh no. Jamack hadn’t just spent the night. They’d…

He clamped his mouth shut so he wouldn’t lose his stomach, scrambling to the surface for air. Fuck, how could he—how could _they_ —have been so stupid?

He stood up, watching the water drip off his skin and flow down his suit. He watched Jamack carefully in his peripheral vision, waiting for him to say the first word, break the silence again. He didn’t know what he’d do or say in response. Hopefully he’d think of something. Just a few more seconds of mercy. That was all he asked. At least he didn’t feel like he’d been baked overnight anymore. His lips weren’t glued together. He still felt sick, but he thought he could keep his stomach down now. The world was a little steadier; he didn’t feel like he was adrift on a lily pad in the middle of a storm anymore. He’d live. Great.

Jamack splashed himself, wading as deep as the shallow pool got. He felt a little better as his body started drinking the water in. He was still cold from the burrow, but the water here wasn’t too chilly and the sun was bright. Which was a mixed blessing, since it was hurting his eyes and giving him a headache. “At least we don’t have patrol tonight,” he sighed.

“No, at least there’s that.” Harris fully stared at him for a moment. “You’re going to forget where my burrow is, right?” he asked bluntly.

“Already forgotten,” Jamack said, rubbing his eyes. “Though it’s not like you don’t know where mine is,” he added, softly.

“True.” Harris swallowed hard. Why did Jamack make this so fucking _difficult_ every time? “And you’ll forget…?” he asked, hands clenched.

“Forget…?” Jamack frowned. _Oh._ He grimaced. “If that’s what you—”

“It is,” Harris snapped, cutting him off. It wasn’t, not at all, not really, but it wasn’t a choice. He wanted to go back to his burrow and curl up naked beside Jamack, their skin sliding together as they fell asleep. Yet another thing he could never have. Not for long.

“Fine.” Jamack turned, leaving Harris alone in the little pool, heading to his own burrow to nurse his headache and sulk.

_Brass_

It was a while before the two of them were close enough to go on patrols together without fighting, close enough to be more friends than colleagues again, even if it wasn’t something either of them would ever admit out loud.

The three of them had been digging through the remains of old buildings when Jamack spotted it, a little gleam of metal. He uncovered the object and turned it over in his hands, curiously.

“Huh.”

It was heavy, made of brass, and it was kind of in the shape of a Timbercat’s pawpads. It took him a minute to figure out what it was meant for, how it was meant to be held. He threaded his fingers through the holes, first one way and then the other, and suddenly it became obvious. When he tested it out he couldn’t help grinning. Whatever it was, even if it _wasn’t_ meant to be used this way, it was a weapon, and he knew just who’d appreciate it. Next time he had patrol with Harris alone, he’d give it to him.

*

Harris sighed. “Will you just come out with it already? You’re practically squirming and I’m going to throw you out the window soon if you keep it up.” It wasn’t like the driver usually did much, anyway, especially at such a slow crusing speed. The dragonfly knew the route and would only deviate from it if Jamack directed it to.

“No!” Jamack was grinning. Of course Harris had picked up on his excitement. “I had a place in mind, and we’re here.” It was somewhere they’d been many times, since they were young, a place lots of Mod Frogs went to train and spar. Whatever it had been in the old world, now it was used for the padded floors, the weights that lined the walls, and the hanging bags full of sand. He stopped the dragonfly and hopped out, opening the door for Harris.

“Thank you,” Harris said dryly. “Why are we here?” he asked, now that he’d fully registered where they’d stopped. “We’re supposed to be patrolling, not training.”

“Yeah, we definitely always spend the time we’re supposed to be patrolling on patrol,” Jamack said with a roll of his eyes. “C’mon.”

Harris snorted, then quickly looked away. They didn’t do _that_ , not anymore!

He shook his head in fond-ish exasperation, but he couldn’t deny that Jamack was right.

Jamack ushered Harris inside and brought them up to one of the heavy sand-filled bags. Harris had always struggled with close hand-to-hand combat. He was unstoppable with his bat…up until someone got too close for a proper swing.

He grabbed Harris’ hand and put the heavy brass weapon over his fingers, curling Harris’ hand into a fist.

“Hey!” Harris protested, automatically moving to pull his hand away when Jamack grabbed it unexpectedly without asking, but he was distracted by the glint of sunlight shining through the dirty, cracked windows on the buttery-warm metal now adorning his fist. “What—?” He held it up to the light, feeling its weight—the weight it added to his hand. He glanced at the bag. Glanced at Jamack. Grinned.

He adjusted the oddly shaped metal object until he was sure it wouldn’t slide too much and hurt his hand, then swung at the bag. The rotting fabric gave way, ‘bleeding’ a steady stream of sand onto the padded floor. His grin widened and he swung again, shredding the bag wherever he hit it. Oh, yes. Yes, he could work with this.

He turned his grin on Jamack. It was the least he could do for giving him this. But… “Why didn’t you just keep it for yourself?” he asked, slowly stroking the metal curves with his free hand. His fist hurt a little, but he knew this would be _so_ worth it in an actual fight. Walking away with a few bruised or even broken fingers was better than not walking away at all.

Jamack chuckled. “I thought you’d like it more. You’ve needed a close-range weapon. And let’s be honest, you and Kwat are the violent ones. …You especially.”

Harris’ grin somehow got even wider, a mad light dancing in his eyes. _“…Maybe,”_ he said, almost flirtatiously. He _liked_ this weapon. A _lot_.

“Maybe?” Jamack sat on one of the weight benches, smirking. “You get antsy if you don’t get to cause any pain for a week.”

“Now that’s not…true…” Harris frowned reflectively, then grinned again. “Alright, maybe,” he conceded. “You’re saying that you would be perfectly fine without violence?” he asked, laughing. “Just you and your…dragonflies?”

Having thoroughly destroyed the bag, he sat beside Jamack. Close, but not _too_ close.

“I’ve got you two to threaten and maim for me,” Jamack teased. “I get us into violent situations, you get us out.”

Harris snorted again. “Please. I get us in _and_ out of violent situations. You always try to _talk_ your way out of things.”

“And it works, when I do it.”

“It might work for me…if I ever bothered trying it.”

“You wouldn’t know how to talk your way out of anything,” Jamack laughed. “That’s one of those skills you have to _practice_.”

Harris shot him a look. “Do you honestly think practicing would help me? Especially at this point?”

“Not anymore,” Jamack said with a grin. “Anyway, that’s what you’ve got me for. What would I do if you could talk your way out of shit without me?”

“And what would you do if you didn’t have me and Kwat to back you up?” Harris countered, grinning back.

“I’d be dead,” Jamack snorted.

“Yes. You would.” Harris beamed with contentment, idly stroking the brass weapon again. Unbidden, the image of doing the same to Jamack’s hand sprang into his mind, and he quickly dropped both hands to his lap. “But…I think we would, too,” he conceded slowly, eyes down on their shoes.

Jamack couldn’t resist wrapping an arm around Harris’ thin shoulders. “Yeah, we’ve always taken care of each other.”

Harris leaned into him before he could think better of it. “Yeah. We have.”

Jamack couldn’t help the ache that shot through him as Harris pressed in close. It’d been more than half a year since their stupid drunken night together and they’d hardly touched each other since. Had this been what he’d been hoping for with his gift? Ugh, maybe it was. He’d been trying not to think much about why he really liked giving things to Harris. Right now it felt like selfishness. Harris kept stopping them, kept ending the relationship. Shouldn’t Jamack just leave well enough alone?

He pulled away, standing, forcing a smile. “We should get back to it.”

Harris blanked his face as quickly as he could, but he was sure Jamack had seen the flash of disappointment. “Yeah. I guess we should.” He didn’t stand yet.

Though he hid it, Jamack clearly saw the unhappy expression. Harris had missed it too. It was easier when they were apart for Jamack to imagine that he had pushed them into the relationship, over and over, that Harris just sort of went along for the ride, but there were moments where Harris clearly wanted it just as much as he did. It only made things more confusing.

Body already missing the weight of Jamack against his side, Harris took off the weapon and tucked it in his pocket. He thought for a moment, then said, “Thank you,” as he stood, hoping he sounded offhanded enough and not too hearfelt. He probably shouldn’t have said the words in the first place, not so plainly, but he wanted to give Jamack something in return, even if it was small, useless, and more-or-less meaningless.

“Of course.” Jamack shrugged it off, heading out to the car. “It’s more useful in your hands.”

“Now we just need to find something shiny for your mouth,” Harris teased, elbowing him in the side as he followed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jamack jabbed him back.

“To match this.” Harris patted his pocket. “Isn’t your mouth your weapon?”

Jamack laughed. “Usually. Along with the rest of me. You know your new toy isn’t just _shiny_ , right?”

“Didn’t you see what I did to the bag? It’s definitely more than shiny!” Harris thought for a moment, trying to think the way _Jamack_ would. “It could also give you…sharper teeth? Tongue armor?”

Jamack couldn’t seem to stop laughing now. He was nearly in tears.

 _“What?”_ Harris demanded, not sure if he should laugh too or be affronted.

“I love when you say ridiculous shit like that,” Jamack admitted, between bursts of laughter.

“I was being serious!” Well, half-serious, anyway. Harris tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching.

“That’s the best part!” Jamack wheezed.

“Shut up!”

“I _can’t_!”

“I know!”

Jamack sat on the hood of the car, flopping against the windshield, still shaking with laughter.

“Ok, now you’re just being ridiculous.” Harris crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at Jamack’s display. Trying to, anyway.

Jamack managed to stifle some of his amusement, but he was still grinning. “So, worth the stop?”

“I suppose so,” Harris said loftily, not looking at Jamack. Not directly.

“You said ‘thank you.’ I think it must have been,” Jamack teased.

“I can take it back, you know. I can _un_ -thank you. And I’ll keep this.”

“I don’t think that’s how ‘thank you’ works, but sure,” Jamack chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

“It is,” Harris assured him, sitting beside Jamack now that he was still. Maybe a fraction closer than he would have normally, his skin still remembering the weight of Jamack against his side from a moment ago and all the times past.

“I can’t wait to see you pull that out in battle,” Jamack admitted.

Harris grinned at him, sliding over a scant fraction so their hips were just touching. “I think you love watching me fight almost as much as I like doing it,” he teased. His hand hovered in the air between their thighs. Jamack’s next move would decide whose leg it alighted on.

Jamack couldn’t resist Harris’ invitation—well, it was as much of an invitation as Harris ever gave, anyway. He nudged in closer, his arm slipping behind Harris, around his waist.

Harris couldn’t keep a deep sigh of relief from escaping him, and he immediately moulded himself against Jamack, head automatically coming to rest on Jamack’s shoulder. Oh, how he’d missed this. He’d tried and tried to deny it, deny the nearly physical ache in his bones when he got too close to Jamack—or too far away—but now that they were touching again he had to admit, at least to himself, how he’d _longed_ for this. How his body had longed for it.

He closed his eyes and inhaled Jamack’s scent. It felt like coming home.


End file.
